Photobooth
by MyMidnightLove
Summary: HPDM, consider it fluff? /Anything but the blatant proof, was your lips touching mine in a photobooth./ ONESHOT


**So this is part of my amazing January first fanfic dump, and if you haunt the deepest darkest corners of livejournal, then you may have already seen all of these. They're all posted on my fanfiction lj(with hotaru-ai), thatnobodygrrl. Check it out? -- shameless self-promotion. There's all this and much much more out there.**

**I think this is my first finished HPDM fic, and I must say I'm kind of proud of it. Also, an important note: READ WHILE LISTENING TO 'PHOTOBOOTH' BY DEATH CAB FOR CUTIE ON REPEAT. It's what I wrote it to, and in my opinion makes it just a little bit better...  
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I grab your hand and drag you down the crowded hall, people talking and passing all around us. You follow me, tripping and stumbling to keep up with my pace, all the while trying to stay as far away from me physically as you can, even though your clammy hand is in mine.

"Where are you taking me, Potter?" I look over my shoulder at you, falling over your own feet, blond hair bouncing with each clumsy step. Your eyes are trained on your feet, trying not to fall over and get crushed. I smile, never breaking stride.

"You'll see when we get there, Draco." I'm not looking back at you anymore, but I know you cringe whenever I say your name. We've been friends for some time now, two years I believe, but you still haven't adjusted to me calling you by your first name. You still call me Potter.

"We're here!" I announce triumphantly. I release your hand, and you fall in at my side with a huff. Before us stands a hideous yellow monstrosity, with one black curtain. A photobooth. I grin, you scowl.

"What is it?" You always sound angry and distrustful when you ask questions. I can tell you don't like not knowing things, especially when you have to ask me for answers. Especially things about muggle-technology. You hate looking dumb in front of me, and hate that I know more about muggles than you do.

"It's a photobooth, Malfoy," I spare you the pain of having to hear me call you by your first name, since I'm about to ask you for something anyway, "it takes instant pictures." I look at you, excited. You look at me, impassive.

"No." I figured you'd say that, but I don't particularly care. I wrap my arm around your shoulder, and force you into the cramped space. You trip on the slightly raised ledge of the entrance, and fall over onto the yellow plastic bench inside uncomfortably. Before you can get up, I block your exit and sit next to you. The seat is small and can barely fit the two of us, though you've gotten so skinny lately you're barely more than bones. I can feel your hipbone against my side through the fabric of our clothes.

"What does it do?" I smile brighter, knowing that you've resigned to go alone with my plan. You sound unhappy, but I know you too well; you're excited. You want to know what this thing does, now that you're trapped in it. I fish around in my pocket and pull out some coins.

"Well, I put these coins in that slot there," I explain, motioning to the slot. You roll your eyes, the slot was clearly marked: 'INSERT MONEY HERE', "and that little camera there will take pictures of us. Simple, right?" I say it's simple, but I see your eyes widen just a fraction. As much surprise as you'll allow.

"It takes… pictures of us?" You sound extremely uncomfortable, and as much as I had been looking forward to this, I feel a bit guilty. I don't like making you out of place.

"Yes." I reach out my arm to put the coins in the slot, but your hand shoots out and grabs my wrist to stop me before I can. I pull my arm back and look at you. You look at the ground, and drop your hand.

"Relax." I whisper. I swallow deeply, and move slightly closer. My lip is almost touching your ear, but you don't notice until I speak again, because your eyes are so trained on a spot of gum on the floor or the booth. "Just relax, Draco. It's only a photo." You shrink away from me in the already cramped space. "Please?"

I reach out again to drop the coins in the slot, and this time you don't stop me. You raise your hand again, but let it hang there in the air weakly. It falls back to your side with a little thud as it hits your leg.

A small timer dings a countdown: three, two, one. The first flash catches us a bit by surprise, but by the second I have an arm slung over your shoulder. The third have my fingers in bunny ears behind your head. The fourth I grab your shoulders and pull you, so the flash catches you falling across my lap. The fifth is you looking angrily at me, mouth open to yell some sort of insult. I cut it off in the sixth, by pressing my lips against yours.

The ding comes again, signaling the end of our photo-shoot. On the screen appears 'INSERT TOKENS' in flashing letters. You push me back roughly, eyes more alive with emotion than I think I have ever seen them.

"I love you, Draco." The words hang, but you say nothing. I hear the whirring sound of the machine printing our little strip of photos. I wonder how they came out. Your eyes take on a glazed look, like the flashes had blinded you.

Slowly, you lean in and close the distance between our lips anew. Your mouth touches mine, and both our sets of lips are soft and inexperienced with each other's. It lasts barely two seconds before you pull back. I can tell from your eyes that you felt nothing. They remain glazed.

"I'm sorry, Potter." You take my hand and gently push me out of the photobooth. We eat sandwiches in the food court, share an oversized soda, and laugh over my impression of Mr. Filch. When we drive home, I drop you off at your house. The car idles in the street in front of your house for a few minutes before you step out and shut the door. You wave at me through the window.

When I reach home, I find the strip of photos in my pocket, the last one is torn off. I had completely forgotten about them. I wish you had too.

_It was pretty clear that it was hardly love. And as the summer's ending, the cool air will rush your hard heart away. You were so condescending, and this is all that's left, scraping paper to document, so pack a change of clothes, 'cause it's time to move on._

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**Italicized lines at the bottom are from DCFC's 'Photobooth'. Reviews make my day, feed my soul, and leave me incredibly happy. Monkey.**


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